


the first words of your story need not be spoken

by SublimeDiscordance



Series: silence, made whole [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Brief Descriptions of Injury, M/M, Muteness, Pre-Slash, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 03:38:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11615088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SublimeDiscordance/pseuds/SublimeDiscordance
Summary: For the prompt “i lost my little brother at the grocery store and you found him and now it seems like you two are best friends and he doesn’t wanna lose contact with you so it seems like i’ll have to get your number - at least you're hella cute”Yancy loses Raleigh in a grocery store. When he finds Raleigh again, the kid's not alone.





	the first words of your story need not be spoken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [suyari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suyari/gifts), [EurekaArcher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EurekaArcher/gifts), [StrikersInDanger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrikersInDanger/gifts).



> This is an OLD Prompt that got lost in the drawer somewhere along the way but. StrikersInDanger wanted Chancy!Yancy-loses-Raleigh-in-a-grocery-store etc. And then suyari and EurekaArcher were my lovely sounding boards for this little thing that popped up. 
> 
> Unbeta'd. Enjoy!

"Rals," Yancy nudges his kid brother, trying to get him to stop messing around on their cart, "cut it out. You could get hurt."

Raleigh huffs wordlessly, eyes rolling in the supremely unconcerned way only children can manage, but obeys. Yancy takes a moment to be silently grateful that Raleigh hasn't hit puberty yet, because, god, if his own teenage years were any indication, the kid's gonna be a hurricane of resentment and hormones.

"C'mon," he holds up two boxes, "do you want Cheerios or Chex this time?"

Raleigh sweeps his hair from his eyes, frowning and looking more thoughtful than most kids twice his age, Yancy's sure. After a few moments, he nods at the Cheerios and propels himself into the cart’s basket. Starts up a game he apparently hasn’t gotten over yet of trying to crawl his way into the seat like he’s three instead of three times that. Yancy puts the box in their cart, grabs a second, and hoists Raleigh back to the floor by his armpits. His brother just huffs at him again, this time glaring through his bangs, lips set in a definite pout.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Yancy can’t help but smile a little, because as unruly as Raleigh might try to be sometimes, there’s no denying that his kid brother pissed off looks more adorable than intimidating. “You could flip the whole thing over and whack yourself with the edge. You know your friend? Mako?

Raleigh nods, still glaring—or still trying to, anyway.

“How do you think she got that scar on her chin, huh?”

That gets him a shrug, Raleigh pulling the collar of his tee until it’s stretched halfway down his sternum. Until he’s showing off the knotted scar tissue that runs a jagged line from just above where his adam’s apple will maybe one day be to about two inches below his collarbone. Yancy knows there’s a similar scar on Raleigh’s back, travelling from just above where the kid’s ribcage starts ‘til about his fifth rib. With his other hand, Raleigh breaks his silence.

_So? Couldn’t make me look any worse than I already do._

Yeah, puberty is gonna be a bitch.

“Rals, c’mon” okay, so maybe Yancy still feels like kind of an asshole, “that’s not what I meant. And it’s not what I care about, either. I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

Before he’s even done speaking, Raleigh’s already signing again, gesturing at the scar.

 _Pretty sure it wouldn’t be too bad_.

It’s a tired argument between them, one that doesn’t diminish even if Yancy plays the “I’m the big brother and I know better” card. It’s also one that never fails to send Yancy back to that night, to the sight of his brother stretched out sideways on that damn table, limbs and head and neck all locked in place to keep him from making his injuries worse, somehow still awake. How his eyes, surrounded by tear tracks through grime and blood, had locked on Yancy once he’d run into the room in a blind panic. How his brother— _his brother_ —had tried to move his jaw, to make any kind of sound, but had only managed a tortured gurgle around the metal bar protruding from his neck and the tubes they’d stuck through his skin.

He knows he was present when they took the damn thing out, but not any specific, fully-formed memories. Knows only because he does remember thinking there was no way, no way they could get it out without killing him and making his kid brother the third casualty to the accident that’d already killed their parents. Remembers the taste of copper in his mouth, the shape of his brother’s name on his lips, the feeling of his own shoulders shaking—though whether in rage or sympathetic anguish, he’s never been sure. After that, though, he remembers talking to a surgeon covered in his brother’s blood, glasses thicker than Yancy’s pinky, and hearing the words ‘goddamn miracle’. Something about the kid’s heart and some big blood vessels and his spine and—fuck, apparently almost everything. Except a lung. And his throat. And his voice.

Raleigh has endured more pain than Yancy thinks most people have ever even thought about in their entire life. But he still firmly believes the kid shouldn’t’ve had to.

“Look, Rals, I love you, okay?” He reaches out, snags Raleigh by the sleeve of his red hoodie before his brother can do anything dumb. Cradles the side of the kid’s head with his hand, turns him so they’re facing again. “I’m your big brother. It is my _job_ to worry about you, to keep you safe. And just because _that_ ,” he gestures at Raleigh’s scar where it’s peeking above the edge of his shirt, “hurt so much doesn’t mean that things that hurt less don’t matter. Or can’t still,” he flails for a second, trying to think of a better word, but gives up, “ _hurt_ you.”

Raleigh doesn’t react; just keeps staring defiantly back at him. Although, if Yancy looks hard enough, he’s almost positive he can see the flicker of a smile somewhere in there. Then again, maybe it’s in his head. Still, after three breaths, Raleigh sighs noisily, looks away, and fingerspells, _OK_.

A rush of breath leaves Yancy’s lungs.

“Thanks, kid. C’mon,” he ruffles Raleigh’s hair, turning and grabbing their cart to make their way to the next aisle, “help me pick out some crackers and stuff for your lunches.”

He gets another huff, this one annoyed, and Yancy chuckles as he imagines Raleigh straightening out his hair again, only rounding the corner when he hears the soft patter of the kid’s footsteps behind him. When he sees cheese-filled things Raleigh always devours first out of whatever else he might buy, he wheels over to grab a box of them. Drops said box on top of the cereal.

“Anything else you might want, kid—?”

The air in his lungs freezes and the ground beneath Yancy’s feet suddenly isn’t there anymore.

Raleigh isn’t behind him.

“Rals?”

The first time calling his brother’s name is tentative, almost as if speaking too loudly will make it real. When Raleigh doesn’t materialize in front of him or tug on his sleeve—Yancy even whirls around to make sure the kid hadn’t somehow gotten behind him—he tries again.

“ _Rals?_ ”

‘ _He’s mute,_ ’ his mind unhelpfully reminds him, ‘ _even if he could hear you, he couldn’t answer._ ’

A million scenarios rush through Yancy’s mind as he runs to the end of the aisle, cart forgotten, and checks both adjacent rows. What if someone snatched his brother, _his kid_ , while he wasn’t looking? What if Raleigh had gotten hurt and tried to call out for help but couldn’t? What if the last thing the kid had seen had been Yancy’s retreating back? What if, right now, his kid brother is alone, scared, hoping— _wishing_ —Yancy would sweep in and save the day and Yancy’s just...here, without a clue, no idea what to do, just as lost? What if—

_“Raleigh?”_

Yancy runs past the ends of the aisles, feet barely touching the ground, looking with a kind of almost frantic insanity for that splash of red topped with a blond mop. His breath is coming too fast—he can’t seem to pull quite enough of it into his lungs—and his mind is playing back an endless mantra of _findhimprotecthimfindhim **findhim**_.

“ _Raleigh!_ ”

On his third run-through of all the aisles, double-checking where he’d abandoned his cart just to make sure Raleigh hasn’t gone back there, one of the clerks gives him a pointed look and approaches. She’s looking at him like he’s crazy, and Yancy doesn’t blame her—he feels halfway there already.

“Sir? Can I help you?”

He glances down at her nametag: Jeanie. Some part of his mind recognizes her, possibly, as the mother of a girl in Raleigh’s class. Caitlin, maybe, or something like that.

“I—” his voice catches, comes out rough, and he has to swallow to wet his throat, “I can’t find my brother.”

Yancy can see her doing the math in her head: _college-age kid, looks like he’s maybe in his early twenties, brother probably somewhere in his teens, but why would he have lost_ —

“He’s nine,” Yancy blurts out. He watches as the look changes almost abruptly, transforming into something that screams, _probably unplanned, where are his parents, maybe not a brother after all_ —

“Would you like me to take you to the service desk?” is what she says instead. “We can call for your brother over the P.A. Do you think he’ll be able to make it there on his own?”

 _Is your brother ‘special’?_ is the unasked question, and were Yancy slightly less panicked he might’ve bristled because _no_ , Raleigh’s probably one of the brightest kids he knows. Hell, Raleigh’s only nine and he’s already reading at a college level—probably has a bigger vocabulary out of the two of them—and can remember more history facts than Yancy’s learned in his entire life.

But, given everything, all he does is nod. After all, Raleigh _is_ special. Just not in the way she meant without saying anything.

“He’s mute, not deaf.”

It probably comes out more defensively than he intends, and he can see her bristle at his tone, but he doesn’t care. Doesn’t give two fucks even as he watches her mind connect the dots—yup, definitely Caitlin’s mom, she definitely recognizes him, or at least Raleigh, now—and, oh, he’s probably going to be hearing about this at the next PTA meeting he bothers to go to (so, never).

She takes him to the customer service desk at the front, tucked away behind all the registers, and turns to him expectantly. As if she doesn’t already know.

“Raleigh,” Yancy tells her, “Raleigh Becket.”

She’s already pushing the intercom, droning out Raleigh’s name, before he’s even finished.

“Raleigh Becket, your brother is waiting for you at the front. Please come to the customer service desk as soon as you can.”

Yancy’s not sure how long he waits, just that he spends the entire time wearing a line in the dirty tile, picking at his fingernails until the corner of his thumb starts to bleed. He sucks it into his mouth, chewing on it instead. It doesn’t hurt much—barely at all, really—but the sting and the coppery flavor are just enough to keep him grounded, to keep him in the here and now instead of _what if_. Still, just when that’s getting to be not enough, just when Jeanie is reaching for the phone again—to call Raleigh’s name again, Yancy supposes—a familiar red hoodie comes into view, and nothing else matters.

“ _Rals_ ,” Yancy’s not sure if he actually _shouts_ his brother’s name or not, but he does know that Raleigh looks up, eyes wide, as if he’s almost surprised to see Yancy so worried—or here at all, maybe. And he knows that he somehow finds himself twenty feet from where he’d been, kneeling before Raleigh— _safesafehe’ssafe_ —with one arm wrapped around the nine-year-old’s shoulders, the other cradling the back of his brother’s head. The anger he thought he’d be feeling simply...isn’t there. Or, if it is, it’s drowned out by his complete and utter _relief_.

“Oh my god,” he realizes he’s saying, “oh god, kid, I—I thought I lost you, god I’m so sorry, I love you so much kiddo, please don’t _ever_ do that again, you fucking _scared_ me, I—”

He can feel Raleigh squirming against him a bit—the way younger brothers are _supposed to_ when given excess affection from their relatives—but it doesn’t really register until he hears another, deeper, accent-tinged voice.

“You alright there, Ray?”

Raleigh twists in his arms and nods, and Yancy only barely catches a glimpse of his brother’s face but the kid is smiling. Honest to god, teeth showing, _smiling_. The same kind of smile Raleigh gave Yancy when he got him _A Short History of Nearly Everything_ for the kid’s birthday last year—something Yancy knew he’d been wanting for _months._ Nowadays, that smile is more precious to Yancy than anything they own.

And Raleigh is directing it at the redheaded man walking towards them.

Yancy’s first reaction is _Oh god he’s hot,_ quickly followed by his brain sluggishly processing, _Is that...an Australian accent?_

That, more than anything, catches Yancy’s attention. It’s not like this is a small town, but most of them know—or at least know of—one another. A red-headed Australian would’ve turned heads, to say the least, or at least would’ve definitely been someone Yancy would remember. Especially one as _pretty_ as this guy is. He has dimples when he smiles at Raleigh. _Dimples._

Yancy is distracted, though, when he sees Raleigh’s hands become a flurry of silent words to answer the stranger’s question. Yancy has had enough practice with Raleigh’s erratic, sometimes fast-paced style of ASL that he can make it out from this angle, but someone who hasn’t been around Raleigh for years like he has, and who probably doesn’t know sign—

“He says—” he starts, but is cut off by the man rolling his eyes, though not enough that he loses track of Raleigh’s hands.

“That he’s fine, I know. You must be the ‘Yancy’ he wouldn’t stop jabbering about.”

Yancy blinks at the guy. He looks like he’s about Yancy’s age, so he’s probably in college—either close to finishing, or maybe even just finished. The leather jacket seems to be overkill, since it’s not even _that_ cold out, and no Yancy refuses to let himself think about how broad it makes the guy’s shoulders look. Jesus.

He takes a step towards them, and Yancy feels his arm instinctively try to wind itself about Raleigh’s waist in a protective gesture. Raleigh, however, squirms out of Yancy’s grasp and crosses the distance between them, grabbing the bigger man’s hand and practically dragging him towards Yancy. As he does, he fingerspells _Chuck_ at Yancy, still grinning wide enough Yancy would swear he can see his brother’s molars.

The man—Chuck, apparently—laughs, allowing himself to be pulled along.

“Okay, okay kiddo. Go ahead and introduce me, why don’t you?”

“Where was he?” Yancy finally asks, mouth spitting out the first words that come to mind.

“Wandering around between aisles,” Chuck looks down at Raleigh with a smile that he turns on Yancy. “I asked him if he’d lost his parents, and he had a few choice words to say about that. I think he was more surprised than anything that I actually understood him. Didn’t know I’d been raised with a deaf mum, eh?”

Yancy lets his eyes drift to Raleigh. The kid has let go of Chuck’s hand and now is standing off to the side—closer to Yancy, but not by much. His grin has faltered slightly, and he’s sticking his tongue out at Chuck, who just laughs. Raleigh’s turned faintly pink, and it only gets darker when he glances over at Yancy and finds himself being watched. He has no doubt the kid knows exactly what he’s thinking—they’ll be having a talk about these _choice words_ later. For now, though—

“Thank you so much for finding him,” Yancy steps forward and extends his hand. Chuck takes it, his smile not wavering. “And for looking after him.”

“My pleasure, mate. Though I can’t take all of the credit. Ray knows what he wants, I’ll give him that.” Chuck’s grin widens further for a half-second, and Yancy could swear the other man is on the verge of laughter. “Thought he was gonna tear my arm out of the socket a few times, leading me around like a stray puppy.”

Yancy notices movement coming from Raleigh, as sees the kid is stomping his foot and huffing that way he does when he’s upset about being ignored. With a scowl, he signs _My name is R-A-L-I-E-G-H,_ punctuating each individualized letter with a petulant stomp.

“I-E, Rals,” Yancy corrects him softly, keeping back his laughter at the way Raleigh’s face turns beet-red and he puffs his cheeks. The kid gets sloppy with his spelling when he gets heated. “Remember: Raleigh is weird, just like weird is weird.”

The little shit has the audacity to actually kick Yancy in the shin for that. Not hard enough to do any damage, but hard enough that it’s not gentle. He doesn’t even have time to pretend to be angry, though, because Raleigh is back at his side, burying his brightly-colored face in Yancy’s shirt.

Unlike Yancy, though, Chuck apparently has no compunctions about laughing.

“Oh wow, that is adorable,” he snorts, and his eyes meet Yancy’s over where Yancy has started softly petting Raleigh’s hair—an old habit from when Raleigh was a baby that never fails to calm the kid down. Raleigh shifts until Yancy can see the glare he shoots at Chuck before hiding in Yancy’s shirt again, fingers twisted in the thinning fabric. “Sorry Ray, it’s true.”

And then the bastard looks back up at Yancy and _winks,_ adding, “Plus, it’s easy to see the family resemblance.”

Yancy feels his face _burn_ , and only then does he realize that Chuck’s hand is still in his, warm and stable. He pulls away, trying his best to not make it obvious that he’d forgotten they were— _jesus christ_.

“I—” he starts, but a cough behind him draws all their attention. It’s Jeanie, looking at them expectantly, if a bit bored.

“Is this your brother, sir?”

Yancy swallows.

“Yes, ma’am.” He gives Raleigh a little squeeze in his arms. “Thank you so much for helping me find him.”

“Mmhmm,” she gives them a pointed look. “Not a problem.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence before Yancy finally adds, “Well, uh, have a nice day,” and turns to head back to where he thinks he left their cart. They still have groceries to buy, after all.

When he glances beside him, Chuck is still there. He and Raleigh are engaged in a silent conversation of some kind, signing back and forth as Yancy keeps his arm around Raleigh’s shoulders, practically steering his brother through the store. When they arrive at their cart, Chuck stops and holds out his hand again. Yancy stares at it, uncomprehending, and blinks.

“I, uh—”

“We didn’t get a chance to be properly introduced,” Chuck tells him, grin sheepish, chewing his lower lip at the corner of his mouth. “Name’s Chuck Hansen. Third year at uni. Mechanical engineering. Transferred here to live with my dads and sister. Really my fourth year, but with the transfer and all that...third year, again.”

Yancy takes the hand again. Makes sure to drop it after a socially appropriate amount of time this go around. His brain almost stutters on the word _dads_ , but he catches himself.

“Yancy Becket,” he says, feeling his lips pulling into a small smile on their own. “And you already know my younger brother, Raleigh.”

Raleigh waves comically, over-dramatic. It reminds Yancy of the kid his brother had been before...before. Back before pain and loss had robbed Raleigh of too much of his vital spark.

“Do you go to uni too?”

The question is innocent enough on its own, but Yancy feels himself stiffen. Chuck must catch some sign, because his hands rise in a placating gesture.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it, I swear. Was just trying to make conversation. You look young enough to be in uni, is all I meant.”

“I am,” Yancy swallows past the words, “I, uh, dropped out when—” he takes a breath, feels Raleigh’s hand find the back of his shirt, fisting Yancy’s hem, “when, uh, when our parents died. Someone had to take care of Raleigh, and it was either he stayed with me or went into the foster system once he got out of the hospital.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Yancy can see how Raleigh’s sobered. Watches as the kid signs, _That was when I learned how to sign,_ and then gestures to his chest and neck. He watches Chuck’s eyes, how they move from Raleigh’s hands, to Yancy’s face, to the scar peeking out of Raleigh’s shirt. Can see the moment understanding crosses behind them, the edges of his gaze softening.

“I’m so sorry,” Chuck’s hands drift into his pocket as his smile slowly evaporates. “I lost my mum almost ten years ago now. Cancer. If it helps, I can’t really promise it gets _better,_ but it does hurt less after a while.”

Yancy feels Raleigh’s arms disengage from him, but it’s only really when they wrap themselves around Chuck’s waist that it clicks that Raleigh has just hugged a stranger. Raleigh, his stand-offish kid brother, is standing back from hugging someone he’d met literally twenty minutes ago and signing, _I’m sorry_.

And then the little brat has to turn back to Yancy and sign, _Can we keep him? I like him._

“Raleigh,” despite the sombre mood, Yancy finds himself able to grin faintly and mean it, “you can’t bring people home like pets. Besides, I’m sure Chuck has a life of his own he has to get back to.”

Chuck, however, shrugs.

“I mean, sure, but I wouldn’t mind if you lot wanted to catch up some more some time. Get to know each other.” His eyes have a low fire behind them, and it makes Yancy’s guts feel like they’ve started melting. “Maybe just the two of us?”

Raleigh stomps, drawing both their attention to him. He signs a string of frustrated half-gibberish that essentially boils down to, _But I want to come, too!_

Chuck laughs. The sound is musical and maybe makes Yancy's knees feel slightly weak. He reaches forward and ruffles Raleigh’s hair where the kid is standing between them. Raleigh slaps Chuck’s hand away, looking affronted, so of _course_ Yancy has to ruffle the kid’s hair, too. That earns him a glare that’s far too adorable to be anywhere near threatening. The glare, though, vanishes the moment Chuck starts speaking again—good god, Yancy needs to take notes from this guy or something.

“Yes, Ray, I’d love to learn more about the history of bread and wheat milling. Has anyone told you before that you’re a really smart kid?”

“Only once or twice a day. Sometimes more,” Yancy answers for his brother, something like pride swelling in his chest. 

Yancy ruffles Raleigh’s hair again. This time, the kid allows it, though Yancy thinks it might be to allow his blushing to be hidden behind his bangs. When he looks back up at Chuck, it’s to  find the other man looking at him with a soft smile, something expectant in his gaze. Yancy puts on his best smile. Raleigh loves this guy, so how bad can he’d be?

“I’d love to. What time do you get out of class on Wednesday? Maybe we can grab coffee?”

Something warm, molten, flips over in his stomach when Chuck’s grin transforms, becomes so bright Yancy’s surprised he’s not blinking spots from his vision.

“Sounds perfect.”

 


End file.
